SuperWood: SpookyDos in Cardiff Bay
by Morality Sucks
Summary: After a mysterious encounter with Captain John Hart, the Winchesters set off across the pond to hunt him down and get back their stolen possessions. The hunt gets a little more complicated after meeting the Torchwood 3 team and everyone is forced to lay aside their differences to solve Captain Hart's latest folly.
1. The Winchesters go Welsh

Deep in a Washington forest that surrounded the tiny town of Oveida, Dean Winchester stalked purposefully through the wide spaced trees, hunting rifle at the ready. A thick, silvery mist hung interchangeable with the darkness around him, the moon above refracting off the haze to color everything a chilling blue.

As he walked in tight strides, a combat ready gait that belonged on a Navy SEAL recruitment video, he banged his head along to the damagingly loud, rhythmic power chords of _For Whom the Bell Tolls _blaring from the ear buds he wore; a camo green pair of shooting earmuffs fit snuggly over them. It was highly disconcerting to be unable to hear anything around him, but at least the music sounded great.

He examined the woods in front of him through yellow tinted shooting glasses, on high alert for any sign of movement, but the thin layer of Vaseline smeared on the front of the lens restricted this sense as well. He could see everything, but just a general sort of outline. He idly wondered if this is what it was like to have cataracts, and then laughed quietly at the idea of ever getting old enough to find out.

Just as he stepped into an eerily empty clearing, a stiff breeze picked up, seeping through the multiple layers of clothing he wore and shooting a tingle of apprehension down his spine. The mist and foliage in view was unaffected by the chilling wind; it was exactly what the hunter had been waiting for.

Raising his upper lip in distaste at the stench of dirt and stagnant water that now surrounded him, Dean spun on his heel. There was a blur of a white clad figure in between the trees he had just exited that disappeared as soon as he saw it; if he didn't know much, _much, _better, he'd think he'd imagined it.

The wind picked up again, and this time Dean was ready. He spun and fired in one smooth motion, watching the figure step back as the round tore uselessly into it. It wavered like a paused VHS before phazing feet at a time towards him.

He unloaded his clip and walked as fast as he could backwards, feeling his back bump against a tree on the edge of the clearing just as he shot the last round. He knew he should be much more worried than he currently was, but the impaired sight and Metallica made it feel a lot like a first person shooter. All he felt was adrenaline.

She was on him, now. Spindly claws reaching menacingly towards him. He swung his rifle at her, and it bounced back, jarring his arms painfully. Her face was distorted and blurry through the tampered goggles, but he could see her eyes expand to giant, black smudges as her jaw dropped to reveal ragged, uneven fangs filling her mouth.

"Scream all you want," He yelled back. "You're gonna have to try harder than that, you moody bitch!" He shouldered the rifle and unsheathed a short iron machete that hung from his belt. He didn't swing it just yet, not while he had her right where he wanted her.

Then the song changed.

The slow intro to _Fade to Black _picked up and the woman's unearthly shrieking tore through the protective ear muffs, throbbing against his ear drums and making his head swim. When a wave of nausea over took him, he stumbled backwards and caught his heel on an exposed root, falling painfully (arguably moreso to his dignity than tail bone) on his ass.

The music had grown loud enough to overpower the wailing again, and even as he scrambled away from the lunging figure, Dean made a mental note to thank Sam for insisting on the double ear protection. Without it, he'd be hemorrhaging all of his blood out his eye sockets; a bit of dry heaving seemed like a good trade.

Her feet left the ground as she neared him, hovering in the air as she moved in for the kill.

His forced grimace of terror was replaced with a triumphant grin even before the black mass that he knew to be an impromptu net of iron chains connected with the monster's head and knocked her easily to the cold ground.

As she attempted to stand under the weight, a lanky figure crashed on top of her- a blur of denim and plaid. Sam Winchester squatted over the restrained monster, a knee in between her shoulders and a wicked looking iron blade held against the back of her neck.

Dean grinned at him as he stood and brushed himself off. "I fucking hate _Fade to Black!_"

Sam squinted his eyes, trying to read his lips.

Realizing he couldn't get in a witty one liner when both of them were as good as deaf, Dean finally sighed, pulled back the netting and swung his machete. It hit squarely on her neck, easily slicing through the decayed skin and grating against the tip of her spinal cord.

Its head rolled, but the mouth didn't close. The shrieking didn't stop.

Standing, Sam jerked the empty duffel bag off his brother's shoulder. Dean looked like he'd been slapped and immediately swung a fist, but the younger man twisted expertly out of the way of his punch and knelt to gather the wailing head. While he was focused on cramming all of the long hair inside the bag, Dean casually wiped the dirty machete across the back of his brother's jacket, smirking at the black goop it left behind.

The twenty minute hike to the sheltered cove where they'd parked took nearly an hour, the headless corpse slung between them like a drinking buddy making their progress frustratingly slow.

It wasn't until they'd fed both head and body into the commercial grade wood chipper that both removed their ear protection.

"Holy shit, Sammy, we just killed our first banshee!" Dean announced in excitement, flinching at the sound of his own loud voice.

Sam pursed his lips as he ran a hand through his hair, dislodging the awkward indents left from the earmuffs. "How many times do I have to say this, it's a Llorona, not a-" Poorly imitated fart noises interrupted him, and he glowered at Dean.

Moving away the hand he'd been blowing raspberries against, Dean grinned back. "Hey- after we bury this banshee slop in salted earth, you wanna go get a drink to celebrate?"

Sam rolled his head on his shoulders, popping his neck with a frown. "Man, I spent the last three hours camped out in a tree, I'm not really in the mood to go cozy up with the locals."

"Aw, come on," He waved off a pair of crows that had appeared to peck curiously at the rotten remains and set to scooping the soupy mess up with a shovel, dumping it into the grave they had dug earlier. "We didn't even have to use the Colt on her, that's definitely worth a few drinks."

"Ugh," Sam's grunt echoed from inside the whoodchipper hopper that he was currently cleaning out. He leaned out, revulsion on his face as he withdrew his gloved hand, a foot long clump of lank hair tangled around his fingers. A blackened, oozing bit of scalp was still attached. He swung it at the grave where it landed with a sickeningly wet squelch, black hair fluttering around it. "Whatever, you can go and I'll crash at the hotel. Go get the salt."

Rolling his eyes, Dean shouldered the shovel and walked around the trees to his car, muttering about fun-hating brothers. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw someone leaning patiently against the Impala hood.

"Hi there," The man said, standing up and smiling warmly at him, hooking his thumbs into the gun holsters at his waist. They were less out of place than the sword sheathed behind him and the strange, Napoleonic military-style jacket he wore. "I seem to have gotten myself a bit lost, perhaps you can help?"

"Help with what?" Dean asked, approaching him warily, eyes never leaving the guns. "You're kinda heavily armed to be walking around the woods asking strangers for help."

"Says the man with a rifle across his back, Colt at his hip and a machete on his belt."

"I'm hunting."

"Hunting what?" The man asked lightly, hunching his shoulders and biting his bottom lip coyly, prominent cheekbones standing out even more.

Dean frowned and put his hands in his pockets. "What do you want? If you scratched my car, I swear to god I'll hunt _you._"

"Oh, now that _does _sound fun! I just was hoping for some directions, that's all. And I'd never scratch anything as beautiful as this. Captain John Hart, by the way." He held out a hand politely.

"Dean." He replied, shaking his hand guardedly. He did have some _distracting_ cheekbones. "Captain of what?"

"Of my own fate, for a start. Say, this is a nice coat." John's blue eyes seemed to glow, mesmerizing, and he still held Dean's hand, reaching out to feel the leather of his coat lapel.

"Thanks, it, uh, it belonged to my dad…" Dean felt awkward and uncomfortable, uneasy by the closeness yet strangely pulled towards him at the same time. He smelled very nice.

"I do love a man with daddy issues." The grin John gave was irresistible, and Dean allowed himself to be pulled down into a kiss, dazed by the turn of events. With a twist and shocking strength, John had him pressed against the Impala, hands roaming under his jacket and a knee pressed between his legs.

Dazed turned quickly to confused, which made way for outright alarm when the tingling that started in his lips spread to his face, neck and beyond. After that, the paralysis set in quickly.

John pulled away and took a step back, grinning as Dean slid down the side of the car to the ground. He waved the Colt at him playfully. "Hope you don't mind, just need to borrow it. Although I don't have a very good history of returning the things I borrow. Aaaaand…" He bent, feeling around Dean's jacket before pulling out Ruby's demon knife from an inner pocket. "I thought you might have this, as well. _Captain _Jack is gonna love this." He patted Dean's crotch reassuringly before standing up and turning to leave. He stopped, looking back at the frozen hunter thoughtfully. "What a shame, your lips are exactly as soft as they look. Aw well, maybe next time. Ta!"

Sam came walking curiously around the trees that blocked the car from his view just in time to see a blinding, gold flash of undulating, shimmery light and Dean laying stone still in the dirt.

* * *

"So what's the plan?" Sam asked, frowning at the dilapidated shack they stood in front of.

Dean shifted from one foot to the other, looking out at the dark water, eerie and still under the setting sun. "We go in, pull the FBI card and push 'em until they fold like their ancestors after the Boston Tea Party."

"What if they play dumb?"

"We ask out right." Dean tugged at his too-tight suit pants with an annoyed groan. "I need a new suit."

"Maybe the Bureau will spring for it. Man, are you sure this is the right place?"

"Frank says without a doubt, but it's not exactly what I was imagining." He replied slowly, looking from the abandoned pier they stood on to the barely noticeable entrance. "When that demon jumped, or transported, or _skidoo'd _or whatever, there was a weird electro-magnetic field that he's never seen before. He found the same signal pouring out of this city. After tracking mail orders, power usage and government funding-"

"Funding by the crown."

"Yeah, that. He piggybacked custom sensor scans that can register the field onto American and Russian satellite signals, tapped into the CCTV and logged all the information with a processing algorithm adapted from a MIT senior project prototype."

"Do you know what any of that means, Dean?"

"Some of the words are familiar; it means we're in the right place." He shrugged. "I always get the short end of the technobabble, just wanted to feel like the computer guy for once."

Sam's lip curled in a poor attempt to hide his humor. "It doesn't agree with you." He pushed at the rickety wooden door and it swung forward on silent hinges.

The cramped lobby was packed full of racks with numerous postcards and worn travel brochures boasting sunny locales far away from the doom and gloom of Cardiff. Touristy magazines filled a rack on the wall and Dean picked one up, displaying it to his brother. "Snowdonia?"

A wooden counter cut across the room, more yellowed brochures long past their relevance stacked along the polished top, an ancient desktop PC that would have looked more at home in an elementary school computer lab in the nineties sat at the end. Strings of wooden beads hung across the doorway behind the counter, twisting idly in the stiff breeze staggering through the room.

"They really need to revamp their decor, this place is depressing." Dean said quietly.

"If you want to see depression, you should try working here. Can I help?"

Both Winchesters jumped at the deep voice, turning towards the newcomer.

"Hallo." The young man greeted with a bright flash of a smile and a small wave. He leaned against the counter, taking a sip from the coffee mug in his hand.

Dean cleared his throat. "Good afternoon, Mr… ?"

_Sip. "_Jones."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Jones." Dean finished with a nod. He examined the man, taking in his perfectly fitted black dress shirt and deep burgundy vest with a cursory glance. "Nice suit."

The man smiled over his mug, a little smirk like he was enjoying a joke only he could hear. "Good afternoon. I'd comment on yours, but, if you can't say anything nice. You wear it better than some, I suppose."

It was definitely not the most flattering of comments, but when delivered in his tidy Welsh with his polite smile, Dean didn't know whether to thank him or be offended.

"So, can I help you? Looking for a Cardiff map of the stars or did your GPS give you the wrong directions to the nearest McDonalds?"

Sam coughed lightly, straightening his suit jacket. "Yes, actually, you can help. We're federal agents and we were hoping you could give us a little information." They both mechanically removed their badges and held them out.

Placing his cup down, Mr. Jones stuck his hands in his pockets and raised his eyebrows. "Bit out of your jurisdiction, agents… Zant and Rossington, is it?"

"We're after an international fugitive under cooperation with the UN and local police force." Sam explained, nodding as he pocketed the counterfeit badge. "You don't have to help us, but I assure you we'll be back in twenty minutes with enough Police Constables to put your mind at ease about our intentions."

"Oooh," The smile never wavered as he furrowed his brow and made the deep, almost sarcastic oohing noise. "I'll take your word for it, Agent. The last thing my night needs is PC Andy bumbling through it. How can I help?"

"You can start by telling us what this place is."

"Did you miss the sign out front? Cardiff Bay Tourist Information and Travel Agency."

Dean smirked. "Maybe you should work on your advertising. These pamphlets are covered in more dust than motel bibles and there's no paperwork in sight."

"The Welsh aren't big on travel." He replied with a shrug.

"Are you sure this isn't a crummy front? That's an awful nice suit, maybe you're the desk boy for the Cardiff mafia."

"Are organized criminals the only people with quality clothing across the pond?" Mr. Jones smiled politely.

Unsure of how else to react to this, Dean laughed. "Listen, we're trying to contact a known associate of the fugitive we're tailing. Do you know a Captain Jack?"

"Have you tried the docks? They're thick with those naval types that like to go by captain."

The brothers looked at each other. His casual manner and responses were definitely out of the ordinary.

Taking his turn at the bat, Sam leaned against the counter, giving his most charming smile. "You seem intelligent and in the know. What can you tell me about Torchwood?"

Mr. Jones leaned forward himself, blue eyes sparkling in the dim light. "Are you coming on to me? I'm sorry, but you're really not my type."

Dean grinned at Sam's startled expression and the blush spreading across his face. "Do you ever give a straightforward answer?"

"Not if it can be helped, no."

"Okay. Are you familiar with a John Hart?"

That one had the desired effect. Mr. Jones straightened up and the smile fell away, replaced by an unreadable straight-faced mask. "Why?"

"He's the fugitive."

"Of course he is."

They stood facing each other down in silence, the man appeared to be considering something. He finally reached up to his ear, tapping a nearly invisible ear piece. "Sir, I've got two decidedly dodgy Americans out here with FBI badges short a few digits on the badge numbers and obvious aliases. They're asking about John." He waited, not meeting either of their eyes, before smiling at an unheard reply. "Yes, I'm aware you know a great deal of Johns. John Hart, sir." He smiled apologetically at them and pressed an unseen button.

The wall behind them folded back with a quiet hiss of hydraulics and a loud thud. They stared abashedly from the dank tunnel revealed by the moving wall to the calm Mr. Jones, who had gone back to sipping his coffee.

"Don't keep him waiting."

"I knew it was a front." Dean said over his shoulder as they walked into the passage. "Sloppy."

The hall deposited them in a huge room with too much going on for either of them to process. They stood dumbfounded, gaping around the Hub.

"Two strapping American boys in suits making house calls, what a great way to kick off the weekend!"

They turned towards the booming exclamation.

A tall, painfully handsome man was standing on a raised platform behind them, arms crossed and feet planted firmly in the ramrod straight posture and pose of a trained soldier. He wore black trousers and a crisp, sea-green dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up neatly past his elbows. Dark red suspenders completed the outfit. "Although, not very nice suits."

"I don't believe Top Shop has branched out to Texas just yet, Captain."

"We're not from Texas." Dean grumbled, glaring at Mr. Jones, who had inexplicably appeared in the cavernous room from an entrance across the odd indoor moat. "And you should talk to your employees about a little less sass in their customer service." He directed at Captain Jack.

"Ianto, sassy? Never!" A dazzling white smile split across his handsome face. "Torchwood operatives are trained to be serious at all times."

"This is ridiculous!" Sam cut in, staring around at the unfamiliar machinery and bunker-like walls. "You just let us into your top secret Cardiff Batcave and all either of you will talk about is clothing?"

"Clothes make the man, Mr. Winchester."

"How do you know my name?" Sam asked, he and Dean immediately backing up to each other in alarm.

"Oh, um, that would be me." Said a timid voice. A short Asian woman rolled out on a desk chair from behind an impressive row of computer monitors, keeping her eyes downcast as she spoke. She had a wide, pretty face and wore a business skirt with a subtle, purple blouse. "The Chevrolet you parked in the plaza garage has unregistered plates and a filed off VIN number, but there's a serial number on the replacement fender that was purchased from a Canadian salvage yard through their eBay shop in '06. The credit card used belongs to a Hector Aframian, known alias of Dean Winchester. Presumed dead multiple times with more criminal charges than I'm going to bother listing, his brother Samuel is suspected of harboring and accessory. Also presumed dead more than once." She seemed almost apologetic revealing the information.

"Sloppy…" Ianto muttered from where he was leaning against a waist high railing, not looking up from the handheld computer he was studying.

"For what it's worth," Sam said quietly, clearing his throat and trying to not appear as overwhelmed as he felt. "Not all of those presumptions were fake."

"So I guess you aren't falling for the federal agent shtick." Dean said with a nervous laugh.

"We're also not gonna fold like the Brits after the Boston Tea Party." Jack replied, stepping off the stairs and approaching the pair. "Now _that _was a fun Friday. Drunk rebels in racist attire throwing things off boats. I just intended to watch, but some of those forefathers were so damn provocative in their Mohawk Warrior headdresses. I never liked tea very much, anyway. Now how about you two start explaining what you're doing at my base, sticking your cute little noses in my business."

"We- Jesus Christ, there's a pterodactyl in here!"

Jack laughed, Tosh giggled and Ianto smirked when the brothers hit the deck in reaction to the shrill, earsplitting shriek from above.

"I don't think you boys were quite prepared for Torchwood." Jack said, smiling.


	2. Captain Envy

Rolling to his back, Dean had his 1911 semi-automatic trained on the soaring creature even before his brain had registered the danger. Just as the sight landed where he wanted it, a tasteful, Italian leather shoe'd foot kicked the gun right out of his hand.

"Point a gun at my pterodactyl again, I'll send enough volts through your body to turn you into a walking electromagnet." Ianto said sternly, as if reprimanding a child. He looked pointedly down at Dean over the stock of a compact stun-gun.

Sam was crouching next to him, hand over the gun tucked in the back of his waistband. At the calmly delivered threat, he held both hands up in plain view. "That might help you hold onto your gun next time, at least." He said light heartedly. The appearance of weapons had shifted the atmosphere from tense to hostile, and he was acutely aware of their away team disadvantage. "We weren't expecting a pterodactyl, it was a surprise reaction. We're sorry, right, Dean?"

"I get attacked by his friggun' dinosaur, and _I'm _the one that has to apologize?" He replied incredulously.

Shrugging, Ianto slipped the tazer into his pocket and smoothed his vest down. "Pterosaur. And an apology isn't necessary, but now you have fair warning for next time."

After a visible internal debate, Dean's glower faded. "So it'll come as less of a _shock?_" He muttered quietly as he clambered to his feet.

Ianto put a hand to his mouth, faking a delicate cough to disguise the sudden smile this comment brought. "Exactly."

Bending to retrieve his pistol, Dean pulled back as a booted foot came down on the gun, pinning it to the floor. He straightened and glared at Captain Jack.

"Technically, Myfanwy is _our _pterodactyl. Kind of a love child thing, actually." He grabbed the automatic. "Sorry, I don't like strangers coming into my house, pointing guns at my pets and agitating my coffee boy. Disarm yourselves right now and I'll consider not wiping your memories and dumping you in a back alley somewhere."

Folding his arms and squaring his shoulders, Dean stared down the other man. "That was my only weapon-"

".38 in his right boot, a six inch blade strapped to his left thigh, a folding hunting knife in his suit jacket and two full magazines in his trousers." Ianto read from the computer in his hand.

"Guess you aren't just happy to see me." Jack grinned and held his hand out expectantly. "It's a shame our tech cuts out the need for a good old fashioned frisk."

Dean continued to stare Jack down suspiciously even as Sam obediently handed Ianto his own gun and knife. "You smell just like your pal, John. I don't want to be unarmed around any friend of his."

"Smell? That's a telling observation." Jack's grin widened. "He got you with a goodnight kiss, didn't he?"

"I-no, he, well-" Dean looked away, flustered. "He got the jump on me and paralyzed me."

"With a kiss. Paralyzing lip gloss, I taught him that." Jack said, nodding. "Pity I missed it."

Sam was fighting back a smile of his own. "Dude, did you kiss him?"

Holding a hand out to silence his brother, Dean turned back to Jack. "Your boyfriend stole some things from me and I'll stop at _nothing _to get them back."

Jack's smile disappeared. "Are you threatening me in my own base? I don't think you understand who you're playing with, kid."

"Kid?" Dean said with a cold laugh, stepping closer. "If you had any idea the things I've seen, the things I've done. I've killed monsters that would make you curl up and sob into your designer suit. I've faced down living nightmares. I think I can handle a pretty boy and his tech-savvy team."

"Aw, but you do think I'm pretty?" The humor was as shallow as the smirk he wore. Jack's anger level was slowly rising. "Look at the pair on you. I usually find confidence attractive, but right now it's just making me want to knock the smug right outta you."

"I'm the smug one? And I'd like to see you try. Take your best shot." Dean spread his arms wide, dimples above pursed lips beginning to show in his anger.

"Dean…" Sam tried in a calming tone, looking from one determined face to the other. He met Ianto's eyes, frowning helplessly.

Ianto tucked his hands in his pockets, eyebrows raised. "I can't tell if this is going to result in a brawl or a snog."

"Am I the only one hoping for neither?" Sam asked.

"Yes." Ianto and Tosh said in unison, both staring intently at the unfolding argument.

Jack's hand twitched and his jaw tightened but he didn't hit him. "Look, I'm sorry John turned you gay, but heterosexuality's a myth, so I can't really help you get it back."

"I've had enough gay jokes and innuendo," Dean gritted his teeth and lowered his arms, fists clenched at his side. "Give me my gun back, flyboy."

Jack smiled. "With pleasure." Reversing the grip, he held it by the decorative barrel like he was about to hand it over before pulling his arm back and swinging it at Dean.

Raising his left arm to block it, Dean brought his right fist around for a punch, but neither attack landed.

Displaced air eddied about the Hub and both Jack and Dean stumbled back from each other as a figure in a rumpled overcoat appeared in the small space between them.

"Whoa!" Ianto said, rocking back on his heels. "Wasn't expecting that one."

"Oh, Jesus." Sam groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes as if he could diffuse the situation by sheer force of will.

"No, I'm Castiel." Castiel said, frowning. "You should know that by now, Sam."

"Toshiko, how the hell did he get in here and why am I not hearing any alarms?!" Jack demanded, stepping further back and swiftly drawing his own .38.

"There's no transmat and not a single foreign signal registered by any of our equipment. I-I don't know!" She spoke from behind her many computers, frantic typing accompanying her voice.

"What am I paying you for?!"

"Well, I'm sorry, but I can't stop people from apparating in here! This isn't Hogwarts."

"You have five seconds to tell me who the hell you are and what you're doing here!" Jack yelled, cocking the hammer back on his gun.

"Five seconds isn't enough time to correctly answer either of those questions." Castiel replied gravely.

"…Is he serious?" Jack asked, looking past the angel to Dean.

"Only always." Dean said, frowning at the back of Cas' head. "Cas, man, I didn't need your help."

"It's easier for me to keep you from being injured than to heal it later. I need to speak to you about the energy you've been tracking and a concerning uprising of demonic activity…" His deep voice trailed off and his piercing blue eyes fixed on Jack, who still had the Webley trained on him. Squinting quizzically, he tilted his head. "What are _you?"_

"I'm the guy that's about to unload six rounds into your chest if you don't start talking."

Cas frowned. "Talking about what?"

With a shrug, Jack emptied his gun, bullets tearing into the angel's chest in a neat triangular pattern. Bright red spots blossomed up, bleeding through the white cotton of his shirt and oozing down his torso.

The Hub went silent.

"What? I gave him a chance and he was a smart ass."

"You dick!" Dean yelled, stepping around Cas and stalking towards him. "He wasn't being a smart ass, he's just _like that! _I should-"

"Dean!" Sam jumped forward, grabbing his brother's arm just as he was bending to retrieve his concealed gun. "Cas is fine, you know that! Don't antagonize him anymore."

"It's the principle! He just shot my… friend. He didn't know he'd be fine!" He turned accusingly to Jack, who had already loaded another clip. "You touch him again, I'll kill you. And you owe him a new shirt, I'm not paying for that."

Jack was too busy staring in confusion at the unwavering Castiel to respond patronizingly to this threat. "What are _you?" _

The lights in the Hub surged and dimmed and Tosh gave a worried little groan as the power to her computers fluctuated. Castiel seemed to grow larger as he walked towards Jack, moving both Winchester's behind him with one outstretched arm. Wind had kicked up from nowhere, flapping his coat about dramatically, and shadowy wings seemed to loom above him. "I am Castiel, angel of the Lord. These men are under my protection and harm to them will be reciprocated through all the vengeance of Heaven. Now tell me. What. Are. You?"

Shock wasn't exactly a Jack emotion. His grin returned at full wattage and he slipped his gun back into it's holster and held out his hand. "Captain Jack Harkness! Did you say angel?"

Cas stared silently at the offered hand. After a moment, the lights returned to their regular brightness and his wings melted back into the shadows of the room. He hesitantly placed his hand in Jack's. "Yes, I'm an angel of the lord."

Shaking it enthusiastically, Jack gave him a very obvious once over. "I love the coat."

Ianto and Dean gave nearly identical eye rolls.

"Alright, alright, everyone knows everyone," Dean said, grabbing Cas' arm and pulling his hand out of Jack's grip. "Can we please get to the important crap?"

"I guess there's no point keeping your weapons if you have a celestial super being in your gang." Jack said, gesturing for Ianto to return Sam's pearl-gripped 9mm and pocket knife. He held out the decoratively engraved .45 to Dean, who snatched it roughly. Jack held up both hands and made a mockingly frightened face in response. "Just kiddin', Dean-O. So Castiel, was it? What were you saying about demonic energy?"

The Winchesters and their angel exchanged glances with each other. Dean finally nodded curtly at Cas, who turned back to Jack to answer. "This city is abundant with demonic forces."

"He must mean the rift." Tosh said quietly, looking from the angel to her boss.

Jack nodded. "There's a rift running through this city, a tear in-"

"The dimensional and temporal fabric of this and many other existences, yes. That's not the energy I'm speaking of, although I believe it has a bearing on the sudden surge of supernatural activity on this continent."

"Maybe what you call demons and supernatural, we call aliens?"

Dean and Sam looked at each other, Dean mouthing 'aliens' with an amused smile.

Cas shook his head. "No. The rift that you monitor excretes alien activity and temporal displacements. What I'm speaking of is more-"

"More bump in the night, piss yourself in terror paranormal." Dean finished. "Ghosts, demons, evil sons a bitches. The Elvira works."

"Americans are so well spoken." Ianto said quietly to Tosh, who bit her lip to keep herself from laughing. Then he raised his voice. "Sir, that call we sent Gwen and Owen out on? Not our average extra terrestrial antics. It could be related."

Nodding, Jack crossed over to one of the computer terminals, accessing the backlog of CCTV. "Could be. We've had weird rift activity the past few days, and I mean weird for us."

"Weird's good," Sam said, moving to stand behind Jack curiously. "We specialize in weird."

"I see that." Glancing back over his shoulder, Jack had to turn his head to look Sam in the eye. "Wow, you're a big one. Where'd they grow you?"

"Kansas." The searching blue eyes made Sam immediately self conscious, and he backed away a few steps, folding his arms and averting his gaze. "Can you just show us the activity?"

The video showed a perfectly normal bus stop with half a dozen citizens loading onto one of those double-decker-night-bus deals. As it moved away from the curb, a familiar tinge of gold light covered the corner stop just before static snow blocked the screen. A woman with a triple stroller that had been passing by was now front and center on the CCTV, shoving the full stroller in front of the bus, causing it to come to an abrupt halt, but not before the plastic and metal of the stroller crumpled uselessly under the huge vehicle. Pearly white teeth gleamed in a wide grin as she disappeared onto the bus, a startled, mid-forties driver tumbling out behind her. The bus took off into what Sam had to remind himself was the wrong side of traffic, careening out of camera range.

Dean gave a low whistle. "That bus end up in the Thames?"

"That's not actually in this city, but A for effort." The snarky comment was just loud enough for Dean to hear, and he gave Ianto a pointed frown. "It's the proper continent, at least." Ianto finished, smiling.

"She did attempt to drive it into the Taff river, after tearing through a roundabout and causing several major traffic pileups." Jack said, ignoring the exchange. "There was an ex Royal Marine on board who managed to subdue her before she could take the final dive, and I sent my other two agents out to interview her. That's not the only example of sudden lethal behavior today, just the most horrifying. I take it you boys are familiar with this type of… Violence?"

"Sure as shit. It's a demonic possession." Dean had turned back to Castiel, tugging at his bloody shirt and ripped tie in an attempt to straighten it out, and spoke in an unconcerned tone of voice. "No offense to your team, but I don't think they're even kind of prepared for that."

"My team's seen a lot. They're working for me for a reason, and have given me enough to trust them under pressure. Whereas you and your large brother have given me nothing but empty, fairly absurd warnings about horror movie monsters. Why should I believe any of that?"

With a shrug, Sam leaned against a tall bit of machinery. "You don't have to believe us, we can just be on our way-"

"Hey, we don't lean against the sonic resonator!" Ianto admonished quickly, causing Sam to jump away apologetically.

"Sorry. I'm just saying that there's obviously enough going wrong in your underground X-Files for you to still be listening to us."

"Maybe." Jack said, watching Dean's careful attendance to the angel with the slightest raised eyebrow. "And maybe you two are just enough kinds a crazy to keep me entertained."

"Whatever your excuse is, we all know you're in a situation. Point is, we need that tool in the over-the-top coat- not you, Cap'n, the _other _tool." Dean said, smirking at Jack. "He took weapons from me that are irreplaceable and we need them back. And you need a hunter's help. In exchange for information, maybe we'll help you clean up the hot mess spreading through your city."

Jack folded his arms. "I think we can handle it just fine on our own-"

"Sir," Tosh interrupted, looking to Jack with wide eyes. "Gwen's on comm one for you, she seems… worried. Shall I patch her through to your office?"

He shook his head. "Put her on the main intercom."

"Jack," Gwen's thick Welsh came through from all around them. "Jack, I don't know what this is, but I'm not sure we can handle it on our own."

Dean and Sam grinned at each other as Jack put a big hand over his forehead. "What's happening over there, Gwen?"

"Sulfur smell, black eyes, serious psychological warfare and black smoke… Am I missing anything?" The cocky statement from Dean caused a pause on the other end.

"Who's that, Jack?"

"Don't worry about it. Is he right?"

Gwen huffed out an annoyed breath. "There was a weird smell in her cell, guess it could be described as sulfur. And she… She started dragging out relationship problems with Rhys that no one should have known about. She threw Owen around like a rag doll. No black eyes or smoke, though."

"Speak god's name to the demon and it will be forced to temporarily reveal itself through ocular distortions." Cas said quietly.

"Who's that? What's happening there? Did you invite the American Army Base over for tea again, Jack?"

Jack's mouth was set in a grim frown. "Just some pretty Americans with some big ideas. Try what he said, speak God's name-"

"Jehovah." Dean clarified, barely able to contain his satisfaction. "Say Jehovah to the perp, pay careful attention to her eyes."

"Jehovah? Owen, what're you doing? Get in the car." Gwen sounded flustered beyond retention. "That's a bit laughable, isn't it? I guess we could go back in."

Sam was shaking his head at Jack, the woman on the intercom sounded far too frustrated as it was and demons had a tendency to pull out all the stops when they were revealed.

He sighed, having no choice but to agree with the Winchester. "Alright, Gwen, just come back to the Hub. We need to regroup on this one. There's more pings across the city to check out anyway." The line disconnected and Jack stared from either of them. "You better not be bullshitting me on this."

"Us, bullshitting? Never." Dean matched Jack's tone from earlier perfectly, a grim eyebrow raised flippantly. "We're not gonna help that demon situation until you talk to us about John Hart."

"John and I haven't been in contact in ages. Well, actually, we won't technically even know each other for decades." Jack considered this with a frown. "Timey wimey, it gets confusing. But I have no idea where he is or what his intentions are-" A trilling beep came from his thick wrist strap, and he rolled his eyes with a frustrated sigh. "Is the universe just hellbent on contradicting every word I say today?"

"Here we go." Ianto muttered. He and Tosh looked at each other, tense at the call on the usually silent vortex manipulator.

At the press of a button, John Hart's projection filled the space in front of Jack. He was holding the Colt in one hand, the other tucked tightly under his jacket, blood apparent through his fingers even in the grainy rendition.

"So you're still around." Jack said, more unamused than he'd been throughout the entire terse interaction with the Winchesters.

"Oh now, don't look so excited to see me. The Bikini Cops might think you like me more than them. And have we had some team upgrades?" His projection turned to Dean and Sam curiously. "Daddy-Issues! You boys got here faster than I would've thought. You really aren't in Kansas anymore."

"Clever." Dean replied, glowering at him in distaste. "You been working on that one since Washington?"

He grinned. "Maybe."

"Making friends fast as always, I see." Jack cut in. "Do you have something you'd like to own up to?"

"Well, I think I accidentally turned high-and-tight gay, but I didn't even touch Big Ben, so you can't pin that one on me. Look at how he stands, though! He doesn't even know."

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Sam readjusted his footing.

Jack raised his eyebrows, waiting patiently.

Biting his lip, John grimaced dramatically at him and hunched his shoulders. The cartoony picture of guilt. "Jaaack, I did a bad thing."

"Of course you did. You know where I am. Get over here and explain in person." He disconnected with a sigh. "So much for my weekend." He turned around, walking purposefully towards the tightly spiraled stairs. "Hey, Cupid! Come with me, I've got a shirt you can have. If your snarky boyfriend will allow it, that is." He smiled at them suggestively as he mounted the stairs.

"We just _had _to come to the UK." Sam said to his face-palming brother.


	3. Nothing Suits You like a Suit

"Hey, I'm sorry I shot you. Just trying to protect my team, you know." Jack's voice came out echo-y and distant from the deep closet he stood in, carefully examining the crisply pressed dress shirts inside.

"Yes, I understand fully. I harbor no ill will over the incident… However, if you'd shot Dean instead of me, I would have killed you."

Jack smiled to himself, selecting a light blue shirt that he thought would really complement Castiel's eyes and climbing up the ladder into his office. The angel stood stiffly next to the port, frowning down at him. "Can I ask you a question, or is that against some heavenly rules?"

"You can ask all you want, but there's no promise I will either know or reveal the answer."

"You were able to locate your boys and beam down here no problem, couldn't you have just angel radar'd John and grabbed him yourself?"

Frowning at the offered shirt, Cas shrugged off his coat. "I tried to locate him based on Dean's description, but he falls far out of my range."

Accepting the coat, Jack watched pointedly as the angel unbuttoned his tattered shirt. "And why's that, exactly?"

"The same reason I'd be unable to find you. You seem to share more than overpowering pheromones with this John."

He grinned disarmingly. "Is it the defined cheekbones and impeccable dress sense?"

"No. Well, maybe that as well. Those things tend to escape my scrutiny, but I'm rather fond of your coat."

"Everyone is. Want a hand with that?"

Cas shook his head and continued to undress, oblivious to the blatant examination he was receiving.

After Jack held up the new shirt and Cas slipped both arms through the sleeves, he turned and stared at Jack with such sudden intensity that the perfunctory innuendo froze on his tongue.

"You're impossible." Cas tilted his head, studying him as if for answers. "You haven't happened yet."

"Yeah. If I had a dollar."

Castiel had returned attention back to the shirt, frowning at the uneven outcome of button and buttonhole he'd ended up with. "How many would you have?" He asked absently.

Blinking at the literal response, Jack gave a short laugh and placed his hand flat against the wall over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow and smiling down at him. "Dunno, but probably enough to buy you dinner."

"Well that wouldn't imply a large sum, I have no need for food…"

Laughing, Jack moved Cas' hands out of the way and began redoing the buttons for him.

There was a moment of thoughtful silence before Cas looked up at him. "I am fond of red meat, however."

* * *

Dean was standing at the top of the spiral staircase, leaning to the side and glaring attentively through the door of Jack's office. He could just barely see Castiel behind Jack's wide shoulders and he'd be damned if the angel didn't seem to almost be smiling. His eyes narrowed as he watched the pair and his lips pursed, faint dimples coming and going.

"Sir."

He didn't react to the low greeting and Ianto resisted the urge to roll his eyes, shifting his footing on the top step. "Mr. Winchester-"

"Wha-?" Dean turned at his name and his elbow caught the white mug of coffee Ianto was holding out to him. Ianto stepped down swiftly, smoothly avoiding the spill while Dean swore loudly and the scalding liquid poured down his front.

Lips pressed together in a carefully neutral expression, Ianto raised his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, I thought you might want some coffee."

"Nah, don't be sorry. That was all my bad." Dean winced, pulling the fabric away from his slightly burned chest and sighing at the stain. "Guess I'm a little distracted."

Joining him on the landing, Ianto's eyes wandered to the office, falling on a brightly laughing Jack and confused, timidly smiling Castiel. "Ah."

"Hmm." Dean tugged at his tie. Loosening it enough to undo his collar. "Uh, thanks, though. Shit, it smells like it was a damn fine cup of coffee."

"It really was." He replied, tucking his hands into his pockets and frowning sadly at the bits of ceramic at their feet. "I can get you some more if you promise not to break anymore of my cups. And-" Ianto's eyes flitted back to the office where Jack was now grinning excitedly as he popped the collar of the overcoat he was wearing and gave a little experimental twirl. "And I could fit you for a real suit, replace that ruined one. Ruined being subjective, of course."

Biting the tip of his tongue, Dean tore his gaze away from the obscene display and looked at Ianto. "That's a thing you can just do? Don't you need, like, a tailor for that?"

"We're outside of the government, beyond the police- I think I can find a tape measure somewhere." Ianto shrugged.

Pulling the corners of his mouth down and looking at the ceiling thoughtfully, Dean nodded in a 'why-not' gesture.

* * *

Dean was forced to admit he found himself rather impressed by Ianto's attentive skill. He moved about, measuring, sizing and measuring again in a quiet, unassuming manner. He'd never had an actual tailor fit him for a suit before, but he was positive that if they were all as efficient and politely respectful as this Mr. Jones, he might get himself a new wardrobe.

Even the inseam measurement was taken in the most respectful of ways, Dean struggling to keep from cracking a joke about how his measurements compared to Captain Jack's while Ianto kept the same delicate poker face on during the entire fitting. Measuring another man's junk can be a tricky process, but all in all, Dean would have to say Ianto handled it perfectly. 10/10, would allow to handle again.

"Well?"

"Well _shit!" _Dean exclaimed, examining all angles of his reflection in the full length mirror. "Jesus Christ, my ass looks fantastic."

"I told you the pants weren't too tight." Ianto said, nodding as he ran a hand through the back of his hair and admired his handiwork.

The black slacks hugged Dean's legs, accentuating curves he never would've thought to showcase on his own. The dark, forest green shirt was tucked in seamlessly and a white vest with perfectly matching accents clung perfectly to every muscle along his torso. He fidgeted happily with the black skinny tie around his collar, white polka dots running along the length of the shiny silk.

"It's a pity I don't have a pair of wingtip shoes to finish the look, but I can only work so many miracles in one night." Ianto pulled off the tape measure he'd slung over his shoulder and began carefully rolling it up. "That color does seem to really flatter your eyes."

Dean grinned at him in the mirror, waiting long enough that Ianto was forced to meet his stare. "You're into me."

"I'm into the _suit, _maybe."

"Which I happen to be in."

"Wouldn't be that hard to get you out of, I'm guessing."

"Don't make it gay."

Ianto couldn't help the little laugh this caused. "You say as you're coming onto me."

"Hey, you're the one measuring inseams and flattering eyes." Turning away from the mirror, Dean put a hand on his hip and the other at his tie knot, striking a fashionable pose. "How do I look?"

"Like a redneck in an incredibly expensive suit." Jack's voice boomed out of an unseen intercom, filling the room. "Gwen and Owen are back, you two need to stop fondling each other and get up here. And your brother isn't allowed on the computers anymore, he tried to set Tosh's default browser to Internet Explorer and she nearly had an aneurysm."

Both full grown men looked abashedly away from each other. Dean shuffled awkwardly, looking thoroughly put out as he pushed his sleeves up just past his elbows and began fidgeting with the beaded skull bracelet and thick watch around his wrist. "I thought I looked good."

"You do." Ianto replied, frowning as he grabbed his suit jacket and gestured him toward the door. "Captain Jack's just a little tetchy tonight, he's feeling a bit territorial."

"It's about time you got up here, Owen's having some sort of seizure or something and we can't get him to stop calling us helpless faggots." Jack's voice was thick with annoyance as they stepped into the main part of the hub, leaving the small, dripping tunnel behind. "'Out of time homo' is hardly what I'd call original."

"Eyes?" Dean asked, stepping around Ianto at the tunnel entrance and peering around for the new team member.

"He's got two of 'em, yeah." Jack answered with a smirk.

"Oh, sarcasm- speaking of original comebacks."

"He's possessed, Dean. No doubt." Sam appeared holding a coffee carafe full of water in one hand and a worn rosary in the other.

Ianto didn't say a word but his eyebrows spoke volumes about the coffee pot. Sam frowned at him. "I'll be careful."

"I should hope."

"You guys realize how bag of cats crazy you're coming off as, right?" Jack asked, folding his arms and looking from one Winchester to the other.

"Oh, really? I guess we can go, let you deal with your suddenly homophobic and foaming at the mouth coworker on your own. Can I pay for this suit with a card?" Dean tugged at the form fitting vest for emphasis, also to draw attention to how perfectly it did fit his form. Because damn.

"Don't even think about accepting one of his cards." Tosh spoke so quietly from behind her row of monitors that it was almost entirely missed, but Dean caught it and gave her an amused grin. She wasn't wrong.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Don't go just yet."

"Oh, why not? Does Captain Harkness need some help?"

"Yes, actually." Jack put his hands in the front pocket of his trousers and moved over to him, all jest gone from his handsome face. "I do need your help. And you need mine. Until I can ascertain exactly how delusional you are, I'm willing to set aside our differences and attempt to cooperate. Let's start over- Captain Jack Harkness." He finished with an outstretched hand, waiting patiently.

Squinting at the hand, Dean nodded slowly but then another thought kept him from accepting. "Hey, where'd Castiel go?"

"Hell if I know!" He replied, throwing his hands up exasperatedly. "We were having a nice little chat and he up and vanished on me. And he's wearing my coat!"

A quick smirk replaced the frown on the older Winchester's face. "Did you make a move on him?"

Jack laughed. "Whole new species I've never encountered with untested levels of power. And those eyes! You bet your Levi's covered ass I did. He seemed to be into it…"

"Yeah, he'll do that. I'd say better luck next time, but-" Dean shrugged before turning to the cavernous ceiling and raising his voice to a bellow. "Hey, Cas! Get back down here and I promise no one'll put their hands on you but-"

The angel materialized directly in front of him, heavy great coat flapping around his legs as he tilted his head and squinted at Dean.

"Me. Hi."

"Hello, Dean."

"Let's give the nice man his coat back, okay?" He pushed the coat down his hunched shoulders and pulled it off, holding it out to Jack while studying the angel's concerned expression. "What's wrong?"

"There's been massive crop failure all along the eastern side of the River Severn and the Cardiff Bay Nature Reserve has been completely decimated in the last forty minutes, it is an undeniable indication of a powerful presence having surfaced. The demon activity may just be a precursor to whatever is disrupting the local flora. And…" Cas hesitated, glancing at the multiple sets of eyes watching him raptly before leaning in to whisper to Dean. "And Captain Harkness attempted to kiss me."

Pursing his lips, Dean tried to keep a straight face. It's not his fault that Castiel was exceptionally adorable when flustered. "Yeah? Didjya let him?"

"No." The question seemed to offend the angel. "I-" He lowered his voice even more. "I only do that with… you."

And just like that, Dean's bristling attitude towards the cock sure, attractive captain fell away. He patted Cas on the shoulder, giving him a soft smile and a wink before turning back to Jack and grabbing his hand, shaking it enthusiastically. "Dean Winchester. No fancy title, but I got a nice car and a shit ton of guns. Let's see what we can do about your little demonic infestation problem."

There was a loud yell, thick Welsh that was completely unintelligible to the out-of-place Americans and caused both to whip around defensively in shock to stare at the average height brunette currently storming up from one of the tunnels across the moat, speaking loudly and angrily. The Winchesters stared at her with wide eyes as she approached, gesticulating animatedly.

"Hvrvbwwryghwwybghbwgb Ooowen, JACK!" Was what it sounded like to the Americans. Bit of a culture shock down here under Cardiff Bay, Dean supposed.

"An' who're these two Chippendales, then?!" She asked, stopping in front of the brothers and staring from them to her boss with wide, frantic eyes, her mouth set in an annoyed, pinched grimace.

"Gwen, stop yelling, you're frightening the Americans. This is Dean and his brother Sam. Winchesters, this is Gwen, she's the heart of our little team."

"Uh, nice to meet you, Gwen." Dean said hesitantly, raising his eyebrows in greeting but keeping his hands in his pockets.

"Nice to meet you." Sam said, casually splashing some of the water from his coffee pot onto her arm and wincing away before she could react.

Her mouth dropped open and she stared from the lanky man to her dripping wet arm, shaking some of the water from her expensive leather coat off in his direction. "Right, I'm sure that's a completely normal thing to do in whatever part of Canada you've wandered out of."

"Just checking you aren't… Possessed."

"Riiiiighto… Jack, a word?"

Jack was having a hard time containing his laughing at this point, and he simply waved her suggestion off. "No time for private chats, they supposedly know how to change Owen back from being a violent, bigoted prick-"

"Moreso than usual, he means." Ianto said quiet enough for only Dean to hear. He didn't know Owen, but Ianto's quips were quickly becoming his favorite part of this Torchwood mess, so he grinned at it anyway.

"You're just going to let these Tommy Hilfigere models run around the hub splashing water on people?"

"For future reference, sweetheart- if you're trying to emasculate us, maybe you should steer away from pointing out our more than average sexual appeal." Dean said, clicking his tongue and grinning crookedly at her. "Says more about you than us, really. Little uncomfortable around pretty people, maybe?"

Jack interrupted Gwen's indignant, babbling response. "Well these are all very useful items we can bring up during the team meeting, I trust you're keeping a running list, Ianto?"

"Always at the ready, sir. They're too pretty, also owe us one mug and one carafe-"

"Hey, I haven't broken shit yet!" Sam interrupted.

"Mmm. Quite."

"Gwen! Take us to the cell you stuck Owen in when he went full black eyed Hannibal."

Down a winding hall that quickly morphed into a cave-like tunnel as did all the halls down here, through a heavy prison grade door and the Winchesters found themselves in a hall lined with clear cells on either end. A strange humanoid monster sat quietly inside the first one, perhaps asleep, and three cells down paced an average sized adult male in designer-torn jeans and a doctors smock halfheartedly decorated with several colorful pins and buttons.

Over his mouth was a small, oval piece of metal that appeared to have nothing securing it to his face and basic zip ties held his hands behind his back.

"It's a Hephaestian gag, if you're wondering." Jack said as Dean frowned at the thing covering Owen Harper's mouth. "A bunch came through on a prison ship that broke apart in reentry in a different dimension, bits and pieces floated through on the rift. It fits over the mouth and their own breath secures it, there's an option to turn the ranting into beautiful alien music if it suits you."

"Silence is okie dokie with me." Dean said. "How do you remove it?"

"Two buttons on either side that have to be pressed by someone that doesn't have the same DNA as the prisoner."

"Okay. How violent is he?"

"He popped me right in the feckin' mouth when I was trying to bring 'em down here!" Gwen yelled, smacking the plexi-glass alloy between them and the pacing doctor.

"Oh shit, is that what happened to your front tooth?" Sam asked, turning to her in earnest concern.

"…What? No."

"Oh."

"Anway!" Jack broke the now awkward silence as if he were completely oblivious to it. "You two get in there and fix that right up, alright?"

"Yup. Open the door. Well, maybe you guys should go watch over the camera. Let us handle it."

"We'll stand back, but we aren't leaving." Jack pressed the buzzer, cell sliding open silently.

Owen turned, waiting patiently for the brothers to enter.

Squaring his shoulders, Dean removed a can of salt from his suit coat and stepped inside, tracing the door way with it behind him. He turned to find the doctor inches behind him, staring with the dark, black eyes he'd come face to face with so many times in the past.

"You're gonna have to do more than give me a stare down, man-" Dean was cut off mid-sentence as, with a head tilt from the possessed Owen, he was thrown into the cement back of the cell. He rolled to the floor, coughing and grabbing his chest tightly. "Owww."

Sam was on him, tackling the smaller man and forcing him to the ground with his considerable weight. When he opened his mouth to begin the exorcism, Owen headbutted his face and a sudden flowing of blood from a broken nose choked back the words. Growling unintelligibly, Sam sat back and swung the coffee pot full of water at Owen, dumping it above him so the water cascaded over his face and set the possessed man writhing about in pain as the water sizzled off his skin. In his writhing and extra human strength, he managed to buck Sam off, flinging him against the plexi-glass to leave a Sam shaped indent in the cell wall and shatter the glass pot in his hand.

"Hmm." Ianto said, earning himself a frown from Jack who was anxiously approaching the cell with his gun raised in case they needed assistance.

Dean had recovered quickly, and just when the Owen meatsuit crouched next to the ragged line of salt at the cell entrance, no doubt working demon-hoodoo-whatevers to crack the barricade, he jerked him back by the collar of his white doctor's smock, spun him around and threw him to the floor, kneeling down and pinning him expertly to the cement. With his forearm across his throat and left hand covering the spooky eyes, Dean began the exorcism.

"_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Omnis Satanica potestas…" _Dean spoke in a low growl, lips pursed and brow furrowed as he recited the Latin that had become as familiar as song lyrics to him.

Jack gave a low whistle, holstering his weapon and watching the exorcism with raised eyebrows. "I hadn't realized Latin could be such a turn on."

"I can't argue with you there, Captain." Ianto replied, also watching the Winchester in his very nice suit.

"'Spose he is rather pretty." Gwen agreed, leaning against the cement wall. "He's not hurting him, is he?"

"No," Sam gasped, struggling to stand and panting for air. "If you can restrain them long enough to recite the entire exorcism to them, the vessel is fine. Given that it hasn't sustained any lethal injuries in the time it's been possessed, that is. Do me a favor and everyone step closer together, just so I can get this salt around everyone."

"Guess who'll be cleaning up all the table seasonings, then." Ianto muttered, grabbing Jack's arm and stepping closer to him.

"Shh, better down here with a broom than a demonic possession down your throat." Jack grinned, putting his body between his team members and his arm around Ianto.

Owen arched his back unnaturally high and Dean jumped off him, jerking away the alien tech gag as he did so. He hunkered away from the thick, oily smoke now escaping violently from Owen's mouth, twisting about the tiny cell and tearing down the empty hallway, dispersing towards the hub ceiling with nowhere else to go.

"He might be out for a while, it's different for everyone." Dean was readjusting the sleeves on his shirt and dusting his pants off. "So, do you believe me now?"

"Outstanding work, Mr. Winchester!" Jack said, grinning at him. "I take back all the mean things I said; you look amazing in that suit."

"I-" He was cut off by a frantic Tosh running towards them.

"Jack, someone's breached the main entrance. The alarms all went crazy moments before silencing and every computer monitor in the place started playing, well, just listen!"

They all slowly excited the tunnel, frowning at the strains of pop music coming from every electronic with speakers in the hub.

"_Turn around… Every now and then I get a little bit lonely, and you're never coming 'round…"_

Peering around, it was hard to pick out what was out of place with the music blaring so loudly. Jack stood front and center, arms crossed and a serious glare affixed to his face.

"_Tuurn arouuund… Every now and then I get a little bit nervous that the best of all the years have gone by."_

"We don't have time for this!" Jack yelled, still looking around with a frown.

"_Every now and then I get a little bit terrified, and then I see the look in your eyes…" _

Just as Bonnie Tyler sang "_Turn arouuund briiight eyeees." _Captain John spun around in the high backed office chair he'd been sitting in directly in front of them, booted foot crossed over his knee and shoulders hunched as he sang along playfully. Blood was soaked through his dingy tan undershirt and the way he held his arm showed he was obviously injured in at least one place. "Every now and then I fall apaaaart!"


	4. Hey Man, Nice Shot

"No, but seriously; I'm kind of falling apart here. Where's that peaky doctor with the sour attitude?"

"Indisposed." Jack replied with an unconcerned shrug. "Guess you'll have to try and keep your insides from being outsides on your own, Bright Eyes. Good luck with that."

"Careful," John uncrossed his legs, the leather of his heavy red boots creaking as they thudded to the floor. "Your worry might give the yanks the wrong idea. They'll think we used to like each other or something."

"'Used to' is definitely the operative phrase there."

Pushing past Jack, Dean stood sternly in between the two forcefully smirking Captains. "Okay, okay. Let's can this bittersweet reunion crap before one of you breaks out into _I Will Survive_."

"Believe it or not, Jacky here's got an amazing set of pipes on him," Biting his bottom lip, John grinned. "And he can sing pretty well, too."

Screwing his face up in annoyance, Dean frowned back at Ianto, nearly laughing when he caught the quiet Welshman mid-eyeroll. Gauging from the slight-yet-obvious exasperation on Ianto's face, that was most likely not the last of the innuendo. Best just to ignore it. He turned back to John. "I want my weapons back." He said, pointing threateningly at him.

"Oooo, come and _get 'em, _big boy." He replied, standing up and holding his arms wide in an inviting gesture. The moment he released his side, a gush of crimson escaped the jagged tear in his shirt, freely dripping down his abdomen and leaving slick trails across his thick leather belt. "Oh. Hmm."

While John frowned down curiously at the spurting wound, Dean strode quickly over to him, grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him forward, resisting the urge to jerk him straight off his feet to avoid aggravating the injury. "Listen, you smug, blood suckin', limey-"

"Blood sucking?" John's amused smile dissolved into confusion. "What are you- oh _goddesses_, you think I'm a vampire?" He scowled before knocking Dean's hands away and straightening his jacket with a shrug. "You take one bleedin' acting gig. I'm not a monster!"

"Well, that's debatable." Ianto said quietly, earning himself a suggestive eyebrow waggle from John that caused him to glance away immediately.

"Don't listen to him, Eye-Candy's just a little miffed that I left last time before we could see that orgy through."

"Hey!" Dean snapped. "Drop the sex just long enough to see this _conversation_ through, alright?"

Jack grinned behind them. "Outlook not so good."

Ignoring this, Dean continued glaring at John. "If you're not a vamp, what's with the super strength?"

He shifted his footing, trying to ease the pain in his side but refusing to sit back down or allow the pain to show on his face. "It's a time vortex thing, you wouldn't understand. Point is, I'm not a demon and I'm not a vampire, so stop sizing me up like a five point buck. None of my mountable parts are up there, anyway." He finished with a wink.

"… Time vortex?"

John looked at him in surprise. "Yeah, did the pretty team forget to fill you in? I'm an ex Time Agent. So's Jack."

Grimacing with the distaste of a man being poorly lied to, Dean folded his arms. "What's that supposed to mean? What does a Time Agent do?"

Pursing his lips and biting the insides of his cheeks to try and keep his excited grin in check, Captain John rocked up on the balls of his feet and stared into Dean's bright green eyes. "Swashbuckling adventure, cloak and dagger espionage, and debonair deception through all of time and space. Not quite the same as chasing children's campfire stories with the family, but it kept me entertained."

"Oh. Huh." His mind was suddenly full of wide, sweeping visions of alien planets and star filled portholes on the sides of elaborate, magnificent spaceships; these two handsome men playing out the space adventures he'd dreamed of as a child. "And, uh, _that _gave you super human strength?"

He raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly. "Sure."

"Is that true?" Ianto muttered to Jack, leaning closer to him with curiosity.

Jack had been staring hard into the distance, seemingly lost in thought. At Ianto's inquiry, he looked from him to John. "I 'unno. Sure. Hey, Dean- left holster on his hip. That sure doesn't match his usual blasters; the barrel's too long and that nickel plating is pretty dated." He grinned when John stuck his tongue out at him, clearly facilitating a change of subject.

Dean's big hand clamped over the Colt at John's hip and John immediately caught his wrist, holding it in place. "Let's talk exchange."

"Alright, you give me back my gun and _I-" _Speaking low and threateningly, Dean jerked the Time Agent forward by his gun belt and mashed his open palm against the profusely bleeding wound. "Spare you a helluva lot more pain. How's that for an exchange?" He twisted and added pressure until John broke eye contact with a muffled whimper.

"Promising and oddly arousing." He gasped with a manic chuckle. "Take it."

Popping the holster open with a satisfying click, Dean snatched the Colt and pushed him back carelessly.

"You're welcome. Anyone got a drink?"

Dean glanced up mid-examination of the gun, fingers frozen over the carved pentagram on the polished handle. He watched John double up and lean shakily against the railing before sighing in annoyance, reaching into his vest and extracting a worn flask. "Here."

John gratefully accepted it. "Thanks." His pale face was twisted in a terribly failing attempt to mask the pain with a forced, pathetic grimace of a smile. His bright blue eyes shone through the dim hub.

"God damn it." Dean muttered. He was just so damn cute. "Cas! Get down here-"

"I'm right here, Dean." Cas answered, stepping out from behind the biggest computer display. "I was learning to monitor the progression of demonic and 'rift' activity on Toshiko's brilliant computers." He smiled almost proudly. "She says I'm a natural and that I'll be addicted to something called Farmville in no time."

Tosh could be seen hunkering low across the desk behind him, either attempting to hide from view or hide her laughter. Or both.

"That's super. Do you think you could, y'know," Dean gestured behind him at John, who had drained the whiskey and was preoccupied with staring sadly into the empty flask. "Fix him up?"

Cas walked stiffly over to them, frowning at John. "I can repair the physical damage, but I can't begin to heal the rampant psychological issues."

"No offense, mate, but you don't look entirely put together yourself- whoa, easy!" John jerked back from the extended hand and flinched as Cas' two fingers barely touched his forehead. There was a surge of energy, a flash that felt like going through a pitch black tunnel, and John felt a startling absence of pain resonant through him. Even the low throb of a lack-of-alcohol headache had disappeared. "Oh. _Oh._" He caught the angel's wrist in his hand and examined him carefully.

Squinting cobalt stared hard into crystal clear sapphire eyes. Cas tilted his head curiously to the side, finding the same amount of impossible draw radiating from this man as from Jack, but with something else thrown in the mix. Something that was making the heat rise to his unshaved cheeks the longer he looked at him. Something that until now he had only ever associated with physical closeness to Dean.

One expressive eyebrow crooked up and John readjusted his hold, threading his fingers through Cas' before flashing his brightest smile. "Well, thank you."

Cas disappeared before all of his pearly white teeth could come into view and he could hear the seductive thank you.

"Was it something I said?"

Jack and Dean both opened their mouths for responses in varying degrees of snarkiness that were promptly cut off by an eardrum rupturing scree from above. A mangled string of poorly constructed curses from Sam accompanied the thud of impact when the enraged pterodactyl slammed into his back and knocked him to the grated floor.

Myfanwy's talons scrabbled for purchase across Sam's wide shoulders, dragging him several feet before ripping giant holes through his suit jacket and flapping back towards the ceiling. "Holy shit!" Sam gaped, rolling to his knees while everyone jumped into confused action.

"You don't have any barbecue sauce on you, do you?" Jack asked, twirling on his heel to keep an eye on the circling pterosaur.

"What? No! I- It's coming back!"

Gwen took a step and stumbled in her heeled boots, cursing as she pressed up against one of the rust covered walls. "This is just great! I told you two it was only a matter of time before that bloody animal turned and tried to kill you!"

"Well, now he's even with the rest of you." Jack replied, giving her a pointed frown even as he squared his footing and crouched low in the path of the diving Myfanwy like a cowboy preparing to wrangle a wild steed.

"Harsh, but fair." Ianto said, ducking behind one of the desks and pulling a shocked Toshiko with him.

"Dean!" Sam bellowed, getting unsteadily to his feet. "Unprovoked aggression and sudden urge to kill? I don't know what color pterodactyl eyes normally are, but his are jet black." He removed a plastic container of salt from his tattered jacket and threw it to his brother.

"Is that even _possible?_" The older Winchester seemed more annoyed than concerned, and he snagged the container out of the air.

"How the hell should I know? They didn't have demons in Jurassic Park."

"And they didn't have pterodactyls in The Exorcist!" Dean scoffed while he popped off the lid, shouldered Jack aside and emptied the salt on the pterodactyl when it was less than five feet away.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jack yelled, falling against the railing.

Myfanywy shrieked when the rock salt assailed one of its wings, misty smoke twisting off the leathery cartilage as he folded it defensively and dropped to the floor. The massive body careened across the grating, barreling towards John with frantically flapping wings and flailing talons.

Wide eyed, John jumped back and drew his remaining, thick barreled gun.

"Hold your fire! I got this!" Dean yelled, throwing himself on Myfanwy's back, stopping its momentum before it could get to the ex Time Agent. Unfortunately, that also meant slowing it down enough to help it regain footing and it was only moments after Dean got his arms wrapped around the bony, irregular neck just above the heavy wing joints that it took to the air again.

The pair sliced ungainly through the air, the pterodactyl writhing and bucking as it attempted to unseat the hunter clinging tightly to its back while Dean held on for dear life and began breathlessly intoning the exorcism. "_Omnis Satanica potestas, omnis incursio- _Holy mother of Christ, this is not happening!" He yelled as he was slammed into an overhang on the ceiling, his voice cracking while he tightened his grip, closed his eyes and ducked his head.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Sam cursed, running to shadow their flight from the ground, worry thick on his brow. "Oh man, he is _really _bad at flying."

"Why the hell did he push me out of the way?!" Jack snapped, pulling Sam to a sudden stop and glaring in anger at the carnival like display above them. "And what did he throw on Myfanwy?"

"Salt. Your dino's possessed. And… Dean does that. He gets protective fast." He shrugged. "Dean! I'll find an intercom or something and finish the exorcism, just hold on!"

Swallowing down more yelps, Dean wrapped his legs around the shorter section of wings and responded in a shaky voice. "I said I got it, and I fucking got it! _Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…" _As he spoke, he began shoving his elbows into the leathery wings, forcing them against the pterodactyl's body. Its flight became even more uneven and it drooped towards the ground.

Gwen reappeared from one of the numerous doorways at this point, shouldering a short tranquilizer gun and taking aim at the dinosaur/Winchester act in the sky. "I think I've got this."

"That's not gonna stop it-!" Sam yelled even as she fired once and reloaded another dart. "Seriously?! It's not gonna stop the pterodactyl and you'll probably just hit Dean!"

She rolled her brown eyes and shot again. "Please, I was a PC for years-"

"Police constables don't even carry guns!"

Pursing her lips, Gwen frowned at him. "They don't, no…"

Myfanwy finally fell to the ground, landing solidly on its back and subsequently on Dean's.

"_Audi nos_, you scaly bitch!" Dean gasped, kicking it off of him and rolling to the side. It convulsed on the floor, shuddering around before thick smoke billowed out of its beaked snout and twisted hectically to the base of the fountain, disappearing through the monument.

"I knew the tranquilizers would drop it!" Gwen said triumphantly.

Sprawling out on his back and letting his head drop to the ground, Dean focused dazedly on her. "They didn't even drop me, sugar." Lifting up one leg, he displayed two bright red darts protruding from just behind his knee and one ass cheek. He yanked one out and threw it towards where he thought Gwen was standing, but his world was spinning violently and it tumbled listlessly out of his hand to fall less than a foot away from him. "Is everyone over here… Shuch a shot shit? … Shoot."


	5. Dazed and Confused

The low, ambient lighting in the Torchwood conference room had a calming effect on the high strung group gathered around the long table. That's why Jack had insisted on the dimmers in this particular room, to 'encourage tranquility for the team during frantic moments of emergency.'

Ianto had cleaned enough tell tale ass prints off the gleaming glass tabletop (his own included) to know it had more to do with mood lighting.

"You're gonna have to do better than 'big, mad and oozing'." Jack was saying with a scoff, staring sternly at John from where he stood at the front of the room.

"Well I was a little distracted by the freak tornado-cyclone-whatevers and mindless zombies tearing into me like Keith Richards groupies, so I didn't exactly have time to catalog the intricacies of its anatomy." He replied defensively, hanging his elbows over the back of his chair and uncrossing his legs.

"When have you ever been too distracted to catalog anatomy?" Jack countered. "And get your feet off that!"

John screwed his face up in annoyance and made a production of lifting his heavy boots off the table, planting them firmly on the carpeted floor. "It was dark and I was drunk-"

"When aren't you?"

"That thing came out of nowhere." He continued as if uninterrupted. "One second I was havin' a good laugh slicing up zombies, the next, this thing's got a bleedin', and I don't mean bleedin' as a curse here, tentacle around me, doin' its best to accordion my organs-"

A loud, sudden guffaw from the end of the table turned all heads towards the Winchesters seated there; specifically the open mouthed, manically grinning Dean. "Surprise tentacle," He snickered, leaning heavily against the back of the chair he was straddling. "I've watched enough Busty Asian Beauties fetish specials to know riiiiight where this is going." He guffawed again before his slightly glazed eyes fell on Toshiko and he frowned in sudden dismay. "No offense, Toosh."

Tosh bit her lip. "It-it's Tosh, actually."

"No, I know. That's what I said."

"No, you said 'Toosh'." Sam said, running a hand through his shaggy hair and staring pointedly at the far wall, embarrassment clear on his face.

"Well, excuse me, professor. Tosh has a nice toosh. Sorry I'm not a word makin'… story… guy. Oh man, you guys! You guys. Samsquatch here couldn't even say 'spaghetti' until he was like 13, it was the worst. And he _still _doesn't know about the first 'R' in 'library'." He grinned expectantly before drooping his head down and groaning. "Ohmigawd, can we pull over? I'm gettin' car sick."

Sighing, Jack splayed his hands on the tabletop and leaned his weight against it. "It's like watching a nature documentary. Owen, is there anything you can do to keep him from drooling all over the hub?"

"You're the… drooly one." Dean mumbled, smiling dazedly at Ianto when he silently moved one of the garbage cans in front of him. "Thanks, Ianto. You are awesome, man."

Ianto patted him gently on the back. "You can thank me by not vomiting on the carpet."

Owen had straightened in his seat and rolled his head on his shoulders to stare disinterestedly at the Americans. "You got me, Jack. I don't even know how he's conscious with that much ketamine pumping through him, let alone walkin' around and forming… mildly coherent sentences."

"He's built a pretty high tolerance for mind altering inhibitors." Sam explained.

"Mmm. I drink a _lot_ and pop a lotta pills. Piiiiils. Peeeeeeeeelz."

Placing his big hand over his face, Sam sighed in annoyance. "That's what I just said."

"Ya, but I didn't sound like a douche when I said it."

"He's got you there." Biting the tip of his tongue, John smiled excitedly when he turned from the brothers to look at Jack. "This place is so much more entertaining with a stoned out hunter! Can we dress him in pretty outfits and draw things on his face?"

Rolling his eyes, Ianto sat down in the chair he had just dragged next to Dean's. "His outfit's plenty pretty, it doesn't need any of your anachronistic… _flair_."

"Sass to match the ass, eye-candy?" John asked, his seductive drawl oddly offsetting to the teasing tone.

"We don't have time for you to list all of Ianto's best qualities; we'd be here all night." The wink accompanying Jack's grin was enough to turn the easily flustered Welshman back to the dopey hunter, attempting to busy himself with handing over a cup of coffee and looking anywhere in the room but at a Captain.

The flash of light accompanying the muted plasma screens turning on drew everyone's attention back to the display of televisions Gwen stood in front of, glaring disapprovingly around the room. "Can we all try and concentrate on the crisis at hand?"

Dean focused blearily on the closest screen, closing one eye to ground his swimming vision. "Man, _Cops: UK _is way more hardcore than I expected."

"What?" Gwen frowned at him in confusion, looking back at the various scenes of mayhem shown across all three screens. "This isn't _Cops_, it's CCTV."

"Well, whatever channel it's on, those limeys are _pissed_."

"No, I don't think they're drunk."

"I wish _I _was drunk."

Baffled, Gwen looked helplessly to Jack, who grinned right back. "But you're handling it so well!" When her expression got dangerously close to pouting, he held up his hands placatingly. "Alright, alright. Mr. Winchester-"

"_Agent _Winchester." Dean corrected.

"Yeah, I don't think so. Dean, if you can make it through this meeting without passing out and maybe even help us figure out what we're up against, I'll take you out for a drink after. Deal?"

He frowned. "If I can drive."

"Absolutely not."

"Alright, you got yourself a deal."

John looked at Jack with raised eyebrows. "I'm comin', too. You're not leaving me behind with the C listers."

"We'll see." Captain Jack said with all the exasperated sharpness of a father dealing with bratty, demanding children. "Now, let's all pay attention to PC Cooper."

Gwen cleared her throat importantly. "Alright. Now, this is happening in every single corner of the city. It's a full scale riot, but no one is bothering to loot a damn thing. It's complete chaos for the sake of chaos."

Biting his full lips, Dean looked from her to the screen, a slow smile creeping across his face. "Would you say it's… Anarchy in the… UK? Ah?"

There was a collective sigh in the room, save for Ianto, who delicately turned his sudden snicker into a polite little cough.

"Anyway," Gwen continued. "I think this mess is entirely those… demons or whatever that possessed Owen and Myfanwy. Remorseless, malicious and nihilistic beyond your typical mob."

"Sounds like Manchester United fans after a really bad loss." Jack threw in. "Sorry, please go on."

Gritting her teeth, Gwen picked up a freestanding poster board from against the wall and set it on the table, displaying the cluttered tangle of pictures, maps and graphs of rift activity interconnected with bright red strands of twine to the room. "Now, there's something much more foreboding unfolding than riots and thefts. In fact, I think the demons might just be distracting from the bigger picture."

"And you needed that cute little vision board to tell ya that?" Dean snickered, earning himself a frown from Jack and a shove from his brother.

She ignored him. "Crops all along the eastern side of the river have inexplicably withered in a matter of hours. The entire nature reserve has been reported as suddenly desolate and empty. Farmhouses here, here and here have phoned 999 about freak weather conditions and indescribable abominations. Captain John was allegedly right here when he was attacked by supposed 'zombies'-"

John scoffed. "Supposed, allegedly; can't you people just take what I say at face value?"

"Not even a little bit." Jack laughed.

"If everyone will shut the fuck up and pay attention!" Gwen finally snapped. "Maybe we can figure this out. I swear to god, I'm the only one that seems to care about this-"

"It's a nuckleav… blahblah." Dean cut her off mid rant and stretched languidly in his seat, yawning. "Nuckelavablaaah… Sammy, help me out here."

Sam was frowning hard at him, a deep ladder of lines crisscrossing his forehead as he attempted to associate his brother's slurred proclamation with his own memory. "Nuckel.. Oh. Oh! Nuckelavee! That Scottish monster we dug up doing research on the selkies?"

Dean nodded and touched the tip of his nose.

"It adds up." Sam was still frowning thoughtfully, recalling what little information they'd stumbled across years back. "The crop failure, the dead being raised."

"The fact that it's only happening on one side of the river whats-it. Remember, it won't cross running water?"

"But John said he was groped by a bloody tentacle, I don't remember anything about tentacles."

Dean shrugged. "There was like four different descriptions in the one book we found, man. All vague as hell. The only thing they had in common was the fact that it was skinless, or its skin was turned inside out. Which would account for the oozing."

"That… makes sense."

Everyone had watched the casual back and forth between the brothers with rapt curiosity, and in the resulting silence, John laughed in disbelief. "Did we all just get shown up by dazed and confused?"

Having seemingly woken up enough to take part in the discussion, Owen replied to this with a scoff of disbelief. "Are you guys all fucking with me? This is complete rubbish. Demons and Scottish elves?" He glared at the brothers with obvious distaste. "It's bad enough that we let _him _back in the base," He indicated John with a toss of his head and equal amounts of dislike. "Now we're gonna listen to Laurel and Hardy about their ghost adventures?"

"You were out for the angel rundown, but I promise you we're not jumping into this on good faith alone." Jack said, obviously annoyed by the interruption.

"Yeah, I don't even wanna now what that means." Owen was unphased by Jack's assurances.

Sam folded his arms and tried to keep himself from prickling too much at the continued jabs at their nationality by telling himself that once Dean was thinking clearly again, he'd surely return the racism tenfold and with much wittier references. "I don't see you coming up with any clever explanations to let you sit in your comfort zone a little better."

"Airborne pathogens causing a psychotic cognition disconnect that results in violent hallucinations and complete memory loss." He sneered.

"Why would only some people in a crowd be affected?" Sam challenged, not for a second intimidated by the arrogant doctor.

"There's tons of factors that could differentiate victims. Blood type, for instance."

Dean's derisive snort cut the glaring match short. "That makes as little fuckin' sense as a black Vulcan." He shifted in his seat as several appalled expressions were turned his way. "Don't look at me like I'm racist! I ain't got nothin' against a black _half_ Vulcan, but come on. Vulcan is a desolate desert planet with no significant climate change throughout the world. A full blooded Vulcan with a different skin tone is just _silly." _He exhaled haughtily in the resulting silence. "I will tell you bitches about Voyager-"

"What the fuck're you on about?" Owen finally snapped.

"Well, he's not wrong." Tosh mumbled, silently amused by the rant.

While everyone was still trying to take in the Star Trek train of thought, Dean had moved on completely, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair to smile mockingly at Owen. "You really gonna try and tell me that you and a good third of the Cardiff population have the same blood type as a should-be-extinct dinosaur? You act like we're the dumb ones- what medical school did you go to, again?"

Sam glowed in smug triumph at the sulky pout on the doctor's face. Owned by a stoned Dean without any racist epitaphs, that's gotta hurt. "What else ya got?"

Jack cleared his throat. "Let's just go along with the Winchesters' explanation for now. Which brings me to the next point; how do we kill this Nuckelavee?"

"I 'unno." Dean answered with a slurred grunt and massive yawn. "First step is naming the monster, second step is… drinking while Sam researches how to gank it." He grinned.

"Gank being 21st century slang for…?"

"Kill." He clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder proudly. "Put this guy in a library, and we'll have a kill method by our third round."

"Your confidence is overwhelming." The younger Winchester muttered, annoyed at being volunteered to research all night even though he'd planned to do just that. "It's late, I'll probably have to break in-"

The quietest of coughs turned attention on Tosh, who looked her usual wide eyed discomfort at so many eyes on her at once. "I, that is _we, _have the entire Cardiff Bay Library database scanned into our intranet."

Sam looked at her with both hopeful excitement and interest. "Searchable PDFs?"

She sniffed in the slightest show of disdain. "Searchable, yes. But they're… it's an alien filetype I'm not going to bother explaining, actually."

"That is going to make this so much easier."

Toshiko blushed in response and turned her attention to the tablet in her hands.

Jack was beaming full wattage around the room, excited by the prospect of something new and pleased at the cooperation. Team building was so much fun. "So. You guys stay here and figure that out while Dean, Ianto and I go get a feel for how things are really going on the streets."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the phone." Sam jumped to his feet as the conference room started to ease into action. "We've had to explain ourselves every step of the way and give physical evidence to support our claims, but no one seems the least bit concerned about _what started this cluster fuck." _

Gwen and Owen blinked rather owlishly at the tall American while Jack screwed his face up in thought.

"Captain John said he'd done something bad, but none of you have bothered to ask him what he's done and why we're neck deep in demon sulfur on a continent that's been relatively quiet on the supernatural aspect the last few centuries." More confused stares had Sam beginning to think he was speaking in tongues. He turned accusingly to John, who was the picture of innocence with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slightly hunched. "Well?"

"I'm sorry, what was the question, again?" His face was a nonthreatening mask of politeness, but John's faintly squinted eyes were staring hard at Sam.

"John," Jack spoke quietly, all gleeful excitement from moments earlier dissolved like tears in an oven. He walked purposefully up to the chair John sat in, his legs extended and feet, once again on the table, crossed jauntily at the ankles. "Why was I not concerned about that?"

John shrugged, meeting the reproachful gaze with a cheerful smile. "Guess you must be slipping in your old age."

With a swipe of his hand, Jack knocked the dull red boots off the glass table top and leaned down to John's eye level. "What are you using to mess with our perception?"

"Nothing." He stared into Jack's clear blue eyes with rising heat, fighting the urge to swing at him out of distaste for being put on the spot. "Alright, that was a lie." Biting the insides of his cheeks and rolling his eyes, John pushed up his coat sleeve to reveal a small circle tattoo. A ring of black about the size of a quarter, it was completely unremarkable. "Anyone got a knife?"

"Here." Dean was quick to respond, pulling out the curved Bowie knife from a sheath around his calf and moving unsteadily to throw it. Ianto stopped his arm just in time, delicately taking the large knife from him and walking it across the room to John.

With a careless slice of the blade across his forearm, John broke the skin over the tattoo and squinted in concentration as he continued to fuss at it. He seemed completely unaffected by the pain. After a few seconds of breathless silence, he gritted his teeth and slowly extracted a shimmering, opalescent strip of what appeared to be dark metal that had composed the small tattoo. "It's a bit of psychic cloaking is all. Andorian spies invented it during the-"

"Chula wars, yeah, I know. They used it to hide information in case of interrogation." He looked at the rest of the team, knowing they would have no way to know what they were talking about. "It's psycho-kinetically engineered to allow the user to focus on a single bit of information about themselves and remove any interest on that one thought from the minds of anyone around them. But I've never actually _seen _any of it. How did you… ? _What _have you been _doing?" _

"Better yet, how did it work on you, but not tall, dark and easily confused?" He gestured meaningfully at Sam.

"Don't try and distract me." Jack said stormily. "That… actually, yeah, why didn't it work on you?"

"I-" Sam looked bewildered at the question, trying to come up with the best way to answer it when Dean answered for him.

"It's the demon blood hoodoo powers." Dean whispered loudly, holding a hand to block his mouth on the side no one was on and nodding conspiratorially at the captains.

"Thanks, Dean. Really saved that one."

"You're welcome, man. Just wanna speed this whole info dump along so we can get to the booze."

John had stood up, easing himself away from Jack. "Demon blood hoodoo? That's a weird thing. Isn't that weird, Jack?"

He caught John's arm and pulled him back towards him. "Uh uh, you aren't skulking off now. You start talking."

John shook the hand off and straightened his jacket. "It's not anything that bad-"

"Bad enough that you tried to hide it from me."

"Also apparently bad enough to raise the dead and bring about a hell on earth." Sam chimed in helpfully.

"You'd know all about that." Dean said with a goofy grin that was not returned by his brother.

"Yes, well." John shrugged impishly. "I was just trying to run a business, you know? Support myself like a legitimate citizen."

Jack snorted. "The day you go legitimate is the day I retire to sing tenor for the Third Reich."

"But you'd look so good in the uniform. Alright, alright!" He stepped back quickly when Jack made a threatening step towards him. "I just set up a… trading post for people with similar interests."

"You've been buying and selling alien tech again, haven't you? And this involved the rift how?"

"Oh, right. Well, aside from the obvious fact that a lot of my…" He cleared his throat. "_Product _comes through on its own, I guess I may have been slightly influencing the flow."

"Slightly?" Jack's voice was getting lower and more dangerous.

"Yes. Oh, and, also, my headquarters were located in an inner-dimensional time pocket forced open by rift warping technology to allow for a wider set of clientele across time and several dimensions access to it."

Heavy, foreboding silence followed this quickly spoken statement as the storm whirling just under Jack's carefully held countenance began to swell.

"Fucking _cool_." Dean said in awe.

John nodded enthusiastically. "I'm glad someone understands."

"Get to the part where it all blew up in your face." Jack pushed.

Pacing to the other end of the table, John was grimacing. "We- _I_ tried to open a hole under some faulty information. It was a portal to, well, to a hell dimension, I guess. And here we are. So, who's up for drinks?"


End file.
